her.
How right she was.
Of course, she couldn’t have known that if the car hadn’t been delivered that day, or if the paint had taken just an hour longer to dry so that Mick wouldn’t have been outside working on it or if she’d taken her walk in another direction … or if, if, if … then, if things had happened differently, her life might have turned out quite differently.
That afternoon she had arrived at one of life’s significant forks in the road, unremarkable-looking at the time, but where the effect of turning one way or the other is fully understood only afterwards. It would take her a long time before she realised it.
Then – much later on – it would become clear to her how wrong her choice of direction had been on that critical afternoon.
S he walked away from the smart villa environment of the Grundbergs, following directions to the town centre. That night, she slept outside the door to the attics of an apartment block. The entrance door hadn’t been locked. This vulnerability was one of the nice things about trips to the provinces. In Stockholm people were so careful that she usually had to stick to familiar addresses where she knew the score.
She was woken by some kid screaming further down the stairway, followed by the noise of a door opening and a woman’s voice saying crossly that if he was going to be like that, he couldn’t come along, so there. A little later the main door slammed and the place became silent again. She checked her watch, but it still didn’t work. She really needed a new one, but watches were expensive.
When she got up from her camping mat, the world went black around her. She had to lean against the wall until the dizziness went away. Food – she needed food at once.
The station was only a few blocks away.
She went into the Ladies’ Room to wash, comb her hair and put on mascara and lipstick. The green suit was creased from being in her rucksack, but never mind. Without it she’d go without breakfast. After putting it on, she held her hands under the tap and flattened the creases with her wet palms. It helped with the worst ones, anyway.
Putting the rucksack into Left Luggage meant that she’d have to pay to get it back later, but she’d fix it somehow. Food was top of the agenda now.
Surveying the scene from the station steps, she decided on the nearby City Hotel. She hurried across the street, then drifted into the foyer at a much slower pace. The male receptionist hurried towards her at once and she smiled at him.
‘Goodness, it’s so chilly today,’ she said and shivered.
He smiled back. His golden name-tag told her that he was called Henrik.
‘I just popped across to the station to check the train times, but I really needed a jacket.’
‘Do ask us here in the reception next time, we’ve got all the timetables.’
She leaned confidingly towards him across the counter.
‘Don’t tell, but to be honest I took the chance to smoke a cigarette.’
He looked benignly at her, as if to reassure her that her secret was safe with him. The guest is always right.
So far, so good.
The hook for the key to room 213 was empty, but 214 was still in place. She looked at her watch.
‘Please phone room 214 for me.’
‘Of course.’ He handed her the receiver. The signals rang out, but nobody answered. Henrik turned to check the keys.
‘He should be in, his key is still here. Perhaps he’s already gone down to breakfast?’
He nodded in the direction of a corridor.
‘It’s unlike him to be early, I must say. There’s a first time for everything I suppose … But thanks. Have you got a morning paper I could have, please?’
He gave her a copy of Dagens Nyheter and she walked off towards the corridor, which would surely lead to the breakfast room. Easy-peasy.
Half an hour later she leaned back in the chair feeling full and relaxed. There were four other guests, all at separate tables and engrossed in their newspapers. Nothing new, it seemed, or
How right she was.
Of course, she couldn’t have known that if the car hadn’t been delivered that day, or if the paint had taken just an hour longer to dry so that Mick wouldn’t have been outside working on it or if she’d taken her walk in another direction … or if, if, if … then, if things had happened differently, her life might have turned out quite differently.
That afternoon she had arrived at one of life’s significant forks in the road, unremarkable-looking at the time, but where the effect of turning one way or the other is fully understood only afterwards. It would take her a long time before she realised it.
Then – much later on – it would become clear to her how wrong her choice of direction had been on that critical afternoon.
S he walked away from the smart villa environment of the Grundbergs, following directions to the town centre. That night, she slept outside the door to the attics of an apartment block. The entrance door hadn’t been locked. This vulnerability was one of the nice things about trips to the provinces. In Stockholm people were so careful that she usually had to stick to familiar addresses where she knew the score.
She was woken by some kid screaming further down the stairway, followed by the noise of a door opening and a woman’s voice saying crossly that if he was going to be like that, he couldn’t come along, so there. A little later the main door slammed and the place became silent again. She checked her watch, but it still didn’t work. She really needed a new one, but watches were expensive.
When she got up from her camping mat, the world went black around her. She had to lean against the wall until the dizziness went away. Food – she needed food at once.
The station was only a few blocks away.
She went into the Ladies’ Room to wash, comb her hair and put on mascara and lipstick. The green suit was creased from being in her rucksack, but never mind. Without it she’d go without breakfast. After putting it on, she held her hands under the tap and flattened the creases with her wet palms. It helped with the worst ones, anyway.
Putting the rucksack into Left Luggage meant that she’d have to pay to get it back later, but she’d fix it somehow. Food was top of the agenda now.
Surveying the scene from the station steps, she decided on the nearby City Hotel. She hurried across the street, then drifted into the foyer at a much slower pace. The male receptionist hurried towards her at once and she smiled at him.
‘Goodness, it’s so chilly today,’ she said and shivered.
He smiled back. His golden name-tag told her that he was called Henrik.
‘I just popped across to the station to check the train times, but I really needed a jacket.’
‘Do ask us here in the reception next time, we’ve got all the timetables.’
She leaned confidingly towards him across the counter.
‘Don’t tell, but to be honest I took the chance to smoke a cigarette.’
He looked benignly at her, as if to reassure her that her secret was safe with him. The guest is always right.
So far, so good.
The hook for the key to room 213 was empty, but 214 was still in place. She looked at her watch.
‘Please phone room 214 for me.’
‘Of course.’ He handed her the receiver. The signals rang out, but nobody answered. Henrik turned to check the keys.
‘He should be in, his key is still here. Perhaps he’s already gone down to breakfast?’
He nodded in the direction of a corridor.
‘It’s unlike him to be early, I must say. There’s a first time for everything I suppose … But thanks. Have you got a morning paper I could have, please?’
He gave her a copy of Dagens Nyheter and she walked off towards the corridor, which would surely lead to the breakfast room. Easy-peasy.
Half an hour later she leaned back in the chair feeling full and relaxed. There were four other guests, all at separate tables and engrossed in their newspapers. Nothing new, it seemed, or
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